


StarIdle

by maridoll



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Durarara AU, M/M, SNK AU, an archer in feudal jap au, and an angsty one, basically seiyuu aus w/o an actual seiyuu au ill have to do that another time, its T bc of the angst btw so not rly but uh, its kinda harsh angst, theres a fluffy one, uuh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maridoll/pseuds/maridoll
Summary: midoaka drabbles to various aus





	StarIdle

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes to the two songs i think of them w (starboy and teen idle) mostly bc i cant title and i dont wanna bother trying rn

 

“AKAAAAASHIIIIIIII!”

He stops his brisk pace to quickly turn and brandish a pair of scissors out in front of him, effectively halting Midorima. “What is it? I’m quite busy now-”

“You know damn well,” Midorima interrupts, waving his hands around. “Give me back my scissors!”

Akashi glances down to them, still pointed at the other, and hums thoughtfully. “No, I’m not quite done with them.”  _Reo still has my knives confiscated_. 

“Not the point!”

“Oh?” He attempts a smile, but the ends of his lips quirk up, and it’s a smirk in a heartbeat. “Why don’t you come take them, then, Shintarou?”

A mistake, perhaps, in the eyes of others. Midorima’s hands flex for a moment before he’s uprooted the nearest stop sign with an ease that would be impossible for literally anyone else, ever. He really is busy, too, but, well . . 

He could spend a moment entertaining this, right?

Akashi lets his ruby orbs gleam with the thought, and as the sign comes his way, he’s backpedaling, guarding with the borrowed scissors, ignoring the audience, and feeling the Ikebukuro wind lift up his black coat away from his waist.  

At one point Midorima gets in close, a width away as the street sign and scissors clamor against each other in a power struggle. He grits his teeth because it should be impossible to defend with something so small, yet here Akashi is, doing it.

The other lets his eyes widen, lips splitting into a grin. “Sorry, I’ll be going now.” As soon as the words are said he throws his weight one direction and spins off, dashing through the streets. Midorima regains his balance, pauses to determine the other’s whereabouts, and in a last fit of rage, hurls the signpost in that direction.

It barely misses his head, and only because he bothers to glance back. Akashi dodges to the side and then looks to see the hilt buried in concrete from the force. Yikes. He presses a finger to his mouth in thought and pockets the scissors, only then noticing the cut on his shoulder.

Hm. It’s not deep so he can’t possibly bother Momoi to attend to it. Before he can think much more, his name is called again, and he wastes no time hurrying away, determined to complete his task for the day.

* * *

 

.

Soon after moving in together Midorima Shintarou discovers something crucial.

Akashi can’t cook for shit.

Well, ‘cook’ was a loose term. What was in front of him now couldn’t really be called such. 

He takes another moment to examine the sandwich before looking up. “Did you flip the bread?”

“What?” Akashi stands before him, wringing his hands at his side. 

Another glance down. Yes, the tops were definitely mismatched, unaligned. When he looks back up, Akashi’s staring at him, daring a challenge. So he dares.

“You have to flip the bread.” He gestures for the loaf and Akashi obliges, pulling out two new slices and handing them over. He takes them and motions for the other to sit down. “See, the bread is aligned here.”

“Yes,” Akashi answers.

“If it’s aligned like this, then it would make sense to fill the two middle portions, so they continue to line up. When you do the top of both-” He flips one over to demonstrate. “It doesn’t work.”

Akashi glances to the made sandwich. “It’s not good, is it?”

Midorima sighs and drops the bread, picking up the other’s creation. “It’s fine.” He rips it in half and hands one side over. “Honestly, you did good for your first-” He pauses, chewing more slowly. Akashi stops in his own motions to throw his head up, looking bewildered.

“What?”

“You . .” He sighs. “You forgot the jelly.”

“Jelly?”

“Yes.” He deadpans. “As the sandwich name implies, a peanut butter and jelly features jelly.”

“Oh.”

Another look like someone stabbed his horse and Midorima is picking up the sandwich again, enduring another bite. “It’s not bad,” he tells him. “You’ll learn.”

He says this as encouragement, but he doesn’t expect Akashi to keep trying like he could master the art in a short period (and failing spectacularly every time). One evening, in contrast to the dry sandwich, their rice is dripping water. “An easy mistake to make,” Midorima tells him. Another time, it’s coffee so strong so early in the morning Midorima finds himself taking sugar. And he never,  _ever_ , does that. “Change once in a while is better,” he tells Akashi, stopping the hurt child look before it could surface. For some reason, meal preparation has become quite a sensitive topic.

It’s another evening when he finds Akashi sitting just outside the screen door to the balcony, blanket draped over his form. Getting an idea, he hurries to their small kitchen and pulls out two mugs.

In a matter of minutes Akashi finds a pale cup of hot chocolate placed before his face. He takes it carefully, mindful of the heat, but the warmth around his hands is quite welcoming.

Midorima sits just inside with his back to the screen. His legs are loosely crossed, ankles together before them. His own mug is held in a hand, and he breathes out a sigh after taking a sip.

Finding that as encouragement, Akashi tries his own and lets out a hum. “It’s good.”

“Thank you.”

He looks over to find pale green eyes on him and can’t help his next words. “I’m sorry.” He sees Midorima blink in surprise and presses on. “For all the, uh, cooking mishaps this week.”

Quickly the surprise turns into exasperation, and then a quiet, mild look he can’t identify. Midorima sighs and looks back into the living space, letting his mug dangle between his feet. “You’re learning, Sei. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

His face warms, and suddenly he has a mighty need, deburrowing a hand from his blanket to snake across the wooden floor. Taking the hint, Midorima rests his own on top, and Akashi lets his shoulders sag. 

“Thank you,” he tells him.

“Yeah.” That easy smile is back. Those green eyes meet his once more. “Always.”

.

As he goes to draw back the bowstring, his sleeve falls back, revealing another scrape on the inside of his arm. 

Shintarou watches from a short distance, noticing yet hesitating to call him out. He decides to wait after the shot, which turns out perfect, as always, before moving forward.

“Akashi,” he says. The other turns, expression softening immediately, but the hidden guard is still there. He gestures to his drawing arm. “You’ve sustained more damage.”

There. The almost-smile turns decidedly into a frown. “Yes, earlier today.” He sighs and rolls back the draping sleeve at Midorima’s insistent look. It wasn’t bad, just a small brush from the arrowhead. Though, nothing was ever too small to cause the other worry.

“Let me treat it when we get back,” Shintarou insists. Akashi nods absent-mindedly, looking down to count his arrow supply at his hip. Five. That should be fine.

“I need an arm guard,” he tells Midorima, picking up an arrow from his last batch. “Something that won’t slip, maybe a bandage.”

“It’d be a waste of a bandage,” came the argument.

“You’re not wrong,” he sighs. “Still, I’m tired of getting nicked. It gets quite annoying after a bit.”

Beside him, Shintarou draws back his own bow and aims. “I’ll think of something.”

Both shots fire, one only just outdoing the other. Akashi smiles in victory.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Midorima asks, setting up for the next shot. Akashi shakes his head.

“It’s practical,” he answers. “Maybe, had we been born in a future era, we would’ve picked up something with more endurance. But, right here and now, I like this.”

“Endurance,” Shintarou echoes. “You mean more work.” He sniffs. “No thanks.”

This time, Akashi’s arrow lies just outside the inner ring. Still, Midorima’s is a bit further out than his. Another victory.

He hums. There are three arrows left, but the sun is setting. Feeling satisfied, Akashi drops the hand holding his bow up and turns to Midorima-

As the other quickly fires his shot, Akashi freezes. The arrow lands on the outer ring, but Midorima pays it no mind as he turns, bewildered still, to face Akashi. 

“Seijuurou,” he berates. What it lacks in bite it picks up in intensity. “Do be careful.”

“I apologize,” he murmurs, bow hanging at his side now. “That was reckless of me, to move without checking.”

Shintarou sighs, dropping his own bow. The sky is now a fervent orange. “Let’s just . . go, and take care of your wound.”

On the way back, Akashi takes a chance. “Are you mad?”

“No.” The answer is immediate. Midorima turns away. “Just . . scared.”

Oh. Arguably, that’s worse. He moves in bigger strides to catch up and lets his hands loosely clasp Shintarou’s own. “Sorry.”

“Apology is weird coming from your tongue,” he replies. In response, Akashi laughs, taking the hint. They walk the rest of the way in silence, and he doesn’t miss it when Shintarou’s fingers tighten around his own.

.

_It’s not my place_

The words echo, distant and misshapen, in his head. It was true, but . . that didn’t mean it felt right. To do nothing. To possibly be an encourager.

_“Would you stop me, if I attempted suicide?”_

His blood ran cold. 

“ _I’m not happy, Shintarou.”_

_“I’m miserable, Shintarou.”  
_

He could help with that. He told him as much.

“ _Would you, though?”_

This was territory marked with warning signs. He stood his ground, but his words were out of place, here.

 _In the end, it’s a tremendous decision I have no place interfering in._  He says.  _What one does with their life in regards to ending it is entirely of their own volition_.

That wasn’t true, when it came to homicide and accidents, car wrecks and attacks. But with what Akashi was saying, with taking the choice into one’s own hands . .

 _Though_. 

Red orbs look up at him.

_In the aftermath, the decision will impact everyone around you._

He moves his glasses higher onto his face, glancing away.

In the end, Akashi asks him to leave.

In the end, Shintarou sees him the next day. And the next. The words still haunt him, but it’s not his place to change that kind of fate.

That’s what he believed.

.

“We’re pioneers, Shintarou!”

He glances over to see ruby orbs locked onto his, a distant fire alight once more.

Akashi gestures to the wall, towering and high. “What we do drives the future of humanity forward.”

If he couldn’t stop the oncoming tangent, better to join in. The others would be here soon. “We are the future.”

“We are the hope,” Akashi corrects, though his tone has softened. “We have to convince these people what we’re doing is the only path.”

_Come join the scouts, where we have both short maybe-psychopaths and tall almost-narcissists._

Except, this time it was different. “I know.”

Akashi steps forward, presses a palm to Shintarou’s heart. “Then come. We have much work to be done.”

Akashi, Midorima later thinks, could be so much more. He could be king, should he desire it.

Instead, he lays stretched over a map, his only goal expanding it. To completion.

Out in the open, beyond the walls, they both have reputations of being intense and worthy. Worthy of surviving. Their titan kill count is an unreachable number, often only ever expressed to the curious as infinite and ever increasing. But it is not their goal to annihilate the titans.

It’s their goal to recapture humanity’s lost territory. 

Amongst the voiced arguments of  _too dangerous_  and  _ridiculous_ and  _unaccomplishable_ , instead of the roars of beasts standing hundreds of meters over them, that is the environment where Akashi is most intense, to Midorima.

Every expedition, his map expands. Midorima covers for him, listens through his speeches and points out flaws that could prove fatal if brought in court. Not literally, of course. More of a ‘kill the argument’ sort. 

Because of the duo’s skill in keeping their squadrons safe, the map expansion continues to be approved. 

It’s Akashi’s desire to one day live without walls towering over the occupied space.

They earn themselves nineteen promising recruits from the new cadet batch, all enthralled by Akashi’s desires. Very soon, a sixth will discover the lack of glamour truly in the job, and another fourth will be brutally injured in a journey outside the wall. One or two will die, as always, unavoidable. The rest will continue, forever enthralled, forever enraptured by their captain’s desires.

One day, Midorima stills his hand over the one on his heart, and another over Akashi’s eyes, temporarily blinding him.

“Picture it,” he says to the air, otherwise silent. “Your desire is becoming reality.”

Beneath, Akashi smiles. The hand over his heart clenches, fingers digging into the fabric. “No.”

His other hand comes to release his eyes from their imprisonment, gaze rising to meet Midorima’s. “Silly Shintarou. Why is it we are always at each others sides?”

He smiles. “It’s  _our_  desire, Shintarou.”

Right. He finds himself smiling. Somehow, somewhere, he’s always known.

It had always been a shared ambition.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i fell in love w them falling in love recently.
> 
> things get posted to my tumblr @cheswirl first. also i have commissions up there.


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